


hit the wall

by imagines



Series: wouldn’t dream of missing it [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluffy Smut, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pet Names, Porn with Feelings, don't worry the otayuri ship still sails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9732563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: “Come here,” Otabek says, holding up his phone.  He’s not expecting Chris to grab him around the waist, fingers dangerously low on Otabek’s hip, but he doesn’t exactly have a problem with it, either.(Or: the story behind that Instagram post. Valentine's Day oneshot/interlude forbelieve it when i say. Because it's Christophe's birthday and that requires celebration!)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, here’s that oneshot I promised about that date they went on in Helsinki. Happy birthday, Christophe! And a happy Valentine’s Day to the rest of you! Would have posted this last night, except... *shakes fist at Ao3 servers*
> 
> By the way, I’ve never had so much fun in fandom in my life until YoI happened. I appreciate every one of your comments/kudos more than I can say. You always make my day, my dears. <3 This one’s for all of you.

<Chris>

you okay?

 

<Otabek>

Yeah, I’m fine.

Okay if we take off soon?

 

<Chris>

you got it <3

 

J.J. catcalls as Otabek heads for the door with Chris, because of course he does. Chris stops, turns, and where anyone else would have told J.J. where to shove it, Chris takes a long, deep bow. J.J. blows him a kiss in return, which Chris pretends to snatch out of the air and clasp to his chest. “Love you too, _herzli_!” he yells.

Outside, the soft glow of the streetlight turns Chris’s hair to spun gold. “Come here,” Otabek says, holding up his phone.  He’s not expecting Chris to grab him around the waist, fingers dangerously low on Otabek’s hip, but he doesn’t exactly have a problem with it, either.

Chris rests his head on Otabek’s shoulder; the camera clicks. “That’s a good one,” Chris says, checking Instagram on his own phone. “Partners in—ha. It’s a crime how gorgeous we are, that’s for sure.”

 

They wander aimlessly, until: “Look, there’s a cute little rink!” Chris points, and it is indeed the tiniest rink Otabek has ever seen, with garlands of colored lights looped all around the boards and a few hardy skaters braving the cold. “Want to go pretend we’re not us?”

After renting two pairs of beat-up skates with blades of uncertain sharpness, they skate slowly around the rink, not attempting anything more exciting than crossovers. Around them whirls the sparkling rainbow of lights. Otabek doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not watching Chris: even on rental skates, grace is built into his every bone; he can’t help but to be beautiful.

And Chris watches him watching, his gaze burning a line down Otabek’s body from head to foot and back again. He moves closer to Otabek, now just centimeters away. In a low voice only Otabek can hear, Chris says, “Do you have any idea how delicious you look right now?”

“Do you have any idea how much tact you _don’t_ have?” Otabek retorts, but there’s no bite to his words.

“Subtlety,” Chris says, brushing his fingers against the back of Otabek’s hand, “never gets me what I want.”

Otabek pulls away, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Sorry,” he says.

“No, no, my mistake.”

Otabek doesn’t know how to explain that holding someone’s hand feels more like being naked than _actually_ being naked. They make one silent lap of the rink, and then he says, “You didn’t misunderstand anything.”

“Oh?” Chris doesn’t seem the least bit upset. Just curious.

“I still want—” But the words strangle him and he can’t go on. It’s been like this his whole life—the more he wants something, the longer it takes him to work up the nerve to say it. He envies people like Chris, who wear their desires like a second skin, never leaving anyone wallowing in doubt.

Chris skates over to the side of the rink, stopping to lean against the boards. Otabek joins him. “You know, if you can’t say what you want,” Chris says, “you can always show me instead.”

At that, Otabek feels lightning crackling down his spine; his fingers tingle and his skin’s too tight. He can’t speak, but he can turn to Chris, turn to this kind smile and these gentle eyes; and he can _carpe_ the fucking _diem_ for once and kiss Chris, practically just a peck, but it’s enough to get the ball rolling.

“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” Chris asks, his eyes glinting dark gold-green in the lights.

Otabek’s already pulling up the tram schedule on his phone. “And do what?”

“Practice our subtlety.”

 

They keep it together walking through the hotel lobby, nodding at the woman behind the check-in desk. They keep it together in the elevator, in the presence of other riders. When they exit on Chris’s floor, Otabek looks up and down the hallway. It’s completely empty.

And here it falls apart; here Otabek grabs the collar of Chris’s jacket and backs him up against the wall. Whenever his voice has fled, at least his body can still speak.

Chris lets himself be pushed, his hands coming up to catch Otabek by the hips; and Otabek wraps one hand around the back of Chris’s neck and lifts up on his toes for the kiss he’s been wanting to repeat since Paris; and he would swear to god an earthquake rocks him then, smashing his heart against his ribcage in bruising percussion. His body feels coated in seething rivers of liquid fire, and Chris is digging his thumbs into his hipbones, holding him close; and the fire cascades down down down and coalesces, and Chris smiles against his mouth. Knowing, _feeling_ , how fucking hard he is.

Chris shifts away from him a few inches, breaking the fucking _awesome_ contact they’d had going on. “Sweetheart, if you don’t want to be thrown out of this hotel, we need to take this to my room.”

If they don’t hurry, Otabek is going to spontaneously combust. “Come on,” he says, because that’s all that will come to mind, and again it’s just enough.

 

Chris isn’t a time-wasting kind of guy, and the moment the lock clicks behind them, he pins Otabek against the door, messing him up; Otabek’s shirt is untucked and one shoe’s off; and abruptly Chris is kneeling, leaning his cheek against the inside of Otabek’s thigh, looking up at him. “You wanna do this, baby?”

“Oh, god,” Otabek breathes. “Yeah, yes, please.”

And that _smile_. Chris looks like he’s been waiting all _day_ , all _month_ for this, and maybe he has been. He drags his mouth up denim—he hasn’t bothered to remove Otabek’s jeans—and _holy shit_. Otabek makes a sound like someone’s punched him in the chest, and without thinking his hands are in Chris’s hair, and it’s all he can do not to come right fucking now.

Which Chris appears to have guessed, because he stops mouthing Otabek’s dick and pulls back, with a grin on his face that Otabek can only describe as pure evil. “I think I’d like to see how you look on my bed now,” he says.

Otabek stumbles trying to walk to the bed; Chris catches him.

“Legs not working so well?”

Otabek didn’t know one could smirk _audibly_ , but it looks like Chris can. “Shut up,” he says, toppling gratefully, gracelessly, onto the bed.

Chris follows him, whole-body pinning him, knees on either side of his hips and hands bracketing his shoulders. “Why don’t you make me?”

Otabek grabs Chris’s hair again and drags him down because they need to keep making out _right now_. In a laughing, struggling tangle, they get their clothes off; most importantly, Otabek’s jeans and underwear.

“Damn,” Chris says, staring. Openly. “I mean, your tights never leave much to the imagination, but I hadn’t realized how big—Oh my god! Stop looking so worried. I can handle it, sweetheart.”

Otabek doesn’t even have _time_ to get self-conscious before Chris’s mouth is on him again, and it’s so much better without fucking _pants_ in the way, and it doesn’t matter anymore if talking is difficult because all he can say is “nngh” anyway, until he comes with Chris swallowing around him.

Chris pulls up and the evil grin is back; he slides his hand under Otabek’s ass and Otabek pushes hard against his fingers; he’s rewarded by Chris gasping this time when his fingers skim over Otabek’s hole. “Oh, _honey_ ,” he says. “Just a second—I need—” He hops off the bed to bend down and dig through a suitcase, giving Otabek a really, really nice view.

His fingers are cool and slick now, delicate and slow inside Otabek, and Otabek rocks his hips, trying to get some speed happening.

“Relax, _schäri_ ,” Chris says, pressing down on one of Otabek’s hipbones to hold him still. And if anything, he’s moving _slower_ now, perfect fucking fingers sliding in and out, and Otabek isn’t sure whether to kiss him or punch him for it.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Otabek says finally. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Yeah?” Chris breathes against his lips. “You want me to?”

“Isn’t it—ah—obvious?”

The second Chris gets a condom on, Otabek moves snake-quick and flips him on his back, straddling him. Chris may be taller, but Otabek’s got brawn.

“Got you,” he tells Chris, who’s looking shocked but ever so pleased with this turn of events. And with all that work Chris has done on him, it’s no problem taking his cock, yeah, _all_ the way. He’s kind of proud of himself for it.

Chris takes long, slow, deep breaths and runs his hands up and down Otabek’s thighs, feeling the muscles flexing. “Easy, baby— _holy fuck_ —you’re gonna make me—”

“Good,” Otabek says, and does not take it slow at all, and now it’s Chris’s turn to be speechless.

Chris hauls him down to kiss him between shaky breaths, voice catching on the syllables of Otabek’s name, sinking his teeth into Otabek’s shoulder when he comes, and Otabek holds onto him tight until Chris’s body stills and his breathing slows.

 

Then there’s that awkward part that always comes along when these things happen, where Otabek’s lying next to Chris, wondering how to ask whether he should leave.

Thankfully, Chris makes it easy by rolling over and draping his arm over Otabek’s chest. “You can stay if you want,” he says, dropping a kiss on Otabek’s forehead.

“Yeah, okay,” Otabek says, moving a little closer, because Chris is warm and kind and lovely, and everyone needs a little of that sometimes.

“Are you going to be okay? After the restaurant?”

Otabek considers pretending he doesn’t know what Chris means, but if Chris is asking, it must have been obvious to anyone who was paying attention. “I’ll be fine. Yuri’s just—I don’t know. We’ll probably talk about it later.”

“You should,” Chris says. “I think he wants you around more than he can tell you.”

“Not if you ask him.”

“ _Have_ you asked him?”

Otabek’s laugh is wry. “In so many words? No. We’re supposed to hang out tomorrow, but I don’t want to ruin it by bringing all this up.”

“So come with me to the afterparty,” Chris urges. “It’s the last night, so you don’t have anything to lose. I can be your wingman. I’ll make sure you get some time to yourselves, okay?”

“Okay, but—” Otabek shakes his head. “I can’t believe you want to hear about this in the first place.”

Chris shrugs. “Something about me makes people want to pour their hearts out. I don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” Otabek says. “For everything tonight.”

Chris presses one more kiss to his lips, running his nails through Otabek’s hair, making him shiver. “Anytime, baby. I mean it.”

**Author's Note:**

> y’all with your fun pet names in Russian and Japanese—how about some Swiss German, hey? ;)
> 
> •  _herzli_ \- “little heart”  
>  •  _schäri_ \- from French _chérie_


End file.
